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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22820602">all's well that ends well (to end up with you)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrickbrewer/pseuds/patrickbrewer'>patrickbrewer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drinking, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Introspection, Karaoke, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Same setting different story, Slow Burn, ish?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 12:08:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,777</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22820602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrickbrewer/pseuds/patrickbrewer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Patrick finds himself stood up on his first attempt at getting drinks with a man, he starts to wonder if moving to Schitt's Creek and leaving everything he knew behind was the best idea. </p>
<p>That is, until he meets a drunken man with beautiful coiffed hair and a love of polar bear shots and karaoke.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>165</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Goshi Sprinkle Prompt Fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi there!</p>
<p>i've been working on this for about 5 billion years and originally i was planning on posting it as one big oneshot, but now i've decided that i need motivation (aka validation) so i stop procrastinating and finish it. i have more of it written already, but i'm going to try to pace myself a bit and set a goal to update once or twice a week until i'm done! </p>
<p>i give you full permission to nudge me about updating if i fail on that front. (just please don't be rude about it i am a sensitive gay)</p>
<p>i hope you like what i'm throwing out here so far! 💜</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Three drinks in and one hour after their scheduled meeting time, Patrick comes to terms with the fact that his date likely isn’t going to show. It’s just a few minutes past 10 pm, what most people would probably still consider early on a night out, but he finds himself drooping in his stool, face smushed against his palm as he watches a few drunken women sing Toxic by Britney Spears. He’s not sure if it’s his overall exhaustion or disappointment that’s making him slide further and further down in his seat, but he tries not to think about it too much, instead letting the sting of whiskey in his throat take over his mind. </p><p>It’s just that this was going to be his first time getting drinks with a man. </p><p>The rearview mirror image of Rachel standing dumbstruck in her driveway as he sped off forever is still fresh in his mind, a sharp pain that nothing can dull. The guilt gnaws at him constantly, not just because of what he did, but because of how he feels now. </p><p>Free. Clear. <em> Awake</em>. </p><p>For the first time in his life he feels like things make sense, like his accidental stumble upon Schitt’s Creek was a door to another dimension that bestowed him with all of the knowledge he needed. </p><p>He’s gay. He’s always been gay. </p><p>It just took him a while to figure that out. </p><p>It’s not that he was raised in a conservative family, or that he even consciously denied who he was. It was more like his heart was on mute, constantly beating a rhythm in his chest that he couldn’t hear. Every time he cuddled with Rachel, kissed her, had sex with her, it beat wildly, rebellious against his ribs. For a long time he thought that was a good sign, that even though his brain was contradicting it, it meant he was in love. </p><p>That’s how all of the books and movies describe it. A racing heart. Flushed cheeks. Huge grins. Butterflies. </p><p>Except now he realizes that all those symptoms he had, all of those quiet moments of confusion and doubt, were something else entirely. </p><p>Fear. </p><p>Fear of being trapped in something that wasn’t real for him and <em> very </em> real for Rachel. Fear of what would happen if he decided to leave, who he’d lose, where he’d end up. It had been multiplying inside of him for years, growing like an uncontrollable cancer. It blocked his airway, stung in his lungs, twisted his stomach until he couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t exist in the circle of Rachel’s arms knowing he didn’t actually fit there. </p><p>Up until now, with his spontaneous move into Ray’s spare room and desk, he’d been feeling confident, like he was ready for whatever came next, even if it wasn’t romantic. </p><p>And now here he is, alone in the one bar in a 20 mile radius, being offered a fourth drink by the bartender. He takes it gratefully, filling his mouth with the golden liquid as soon as the glass is slid across the counter. The world is swaying just a little bit now, the dimmed lights brighter than before, and as Patrick looks back up at the stage he nearly chokes on his drink. </p><p>An unbelievably beautiful man has staggered up to the microphone, his coiffed hair sticking every which way and eyes half lidded. He downs another shot and yells something Patrick can’t hear, arms waving dramatically. He’s in a black sweater with a poorly drawn white heart on the front, something Patrick would expect to see in a Forever 21 store, but based on the serious way he asks the girl beside him to stop getting so close to stepping on his shoes, he’s pretty sure he’s wrong about that. </p><p>They sing a Mariah Carey song that Patrick might have been able to pick out if he wasn’t drunk off his ass right now, and he can’t help but watch the way the man’s throat moves when he tries to belt out the high notes. </p><p>He’s god awful at singing. Patrick is halfway in love with him already. </p><p>When the song ends the girl promptly steps off the stage, receiving protests that transfer through the mic. Her oversized blue flannel pools around her waist as she sidles up to a blonde-haired girl in a booth across the bar, rolling her eyes fondly as she presses a kiss to her cheek. </p><p>“Who the hell am I going to duet with now?” the man complains, arms raised in the air. </p><p>Patrick watches him for a moment, battling with himself. He’s way too drunk for this, way too new to all of it to suddenly try to duet with someone he doesn’t know like some sort of real life High School Musical. </p><p>His feet don’t give a fuck, though, and before he knows it, he’s standing in front of the stranger. </p><p>“I’ll sing with you,” he says, voice coming out smoother than he thought possible with this blood alcohol level. </p><p>The man’s eyebrows raise in shock, seemingly surprised that someone had even been paying attention to his complaints in the first place. His eyes are dark brown, but they almost glow in the bar’s lighting, reflecting the karaoke machine’s blaze. He stares at Patrick for a moment, seemingly caught off guard, before reluctantly agreeing.</p><p>And there’s something about his nervous expression, the exaggerated downturn of his lips, that makes Patrick grin wide, enchanted. It’s not even the same as the usual bursts of attraction he usually feels. It’s deeper, simultaneously composed and deeply out of sorts. He feels a little bit like he’s free falling into something as the music begins.</p><p>He recognizes the beat as soon as it begins, something he’s heard countless times, always in the background of his life. He’s pretty sure it was on the local grocery store’s playlist back home. </p><p>Luckily he doesn’t have time to think about that as the man sings the first line, voice cracking every few words. He’s still swaying slightly, like just one puff of air will be enough to knock him down. </p><p>“I call you when I need you and my heart’s on fire. You come to me wild and wired. You come to me, give me everything I need.” </p><p>Patrick meets his gaze, lips wide with mirth as he goes to sing the next few lines. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And then he wakes up at 8 am the next morning, one leg slung off the side of his bed with his shoe still on, the other tangled in the covers. His head is actually throbbing in time with his pulse, a solid, unforgiving beat that seems to send a groan out of his throat without his permission. </p><p>“Knock knock!” Ray’s loud, chipper voice sounds from the doorway, and Patrick forces himself to lift his head just enough to acknowledge him. “I put a bottle of Advil and five water bottles on your bedside table. I figured you and David might need them after last night.”</p><p>Patrick stares blankly at him for a moment. He has absolutely no idea who that is. He doesn’t even know how he got home. </p><p>“Who’s David?”</p><p>Ray lets out an amused laugh as if Patrick made a joke, shaking his head. “David Rose! The owner of the town. I had no idea you two knew each other, but I figured you must when I came downstairs this morning and saw him asleep on the couch. I suppose he didn’t want to walk the few extra blocks to the motel.”</p><p>David Rose.</p><p>He’s heard that name in the little time he’s been here. Mostly passing comments about the sweater he was wearing that day, but most recently his plans to buy the general store. He vaguely remembers seeing news of the Roses’ downfall online when it first happened, remembers feeling a pang of nostalgia for the days he worked at the local Rose Video. It was his first job, one of the few where he got along with nearly all of his co-workers. </p><p>He’d quickly forgotten about it back then, though, and he hadn’t really considered reaching out to them since he arrived.</p><p>Until now. </p><p>Because <em> now </em> tiny blips are re-entering his mind. Dark, coiffed hair. The sting of whiskey in his throat. Dark brown eyes staring into his own as they performed song after song together. Fingers clutching sleeves as they stumbled out of the cab, giggling like teenagers. Trading lazy grins as Patrick lingered at the bottom of the stairs, wishing he had the nerve to invite him up. </p><p><em> David</em>. </p><p>He never actually learned his name last night, and now that he knows, he can’t seem to stop flipping it over in his mind, allowing his brain to feel out each letter, map it out on his tongue. </p><p><em> David Rose</em>. </p><p>“Is he still here?” he asks, focusing back in on Ray. </p><p>“No,” Ray laughs out, waving a hand casually. “He left a few minutes ago.”</p><p>They’re silent for a moment as the words sink in, and then Patrick is out of bed, stumbling past Ray and trying not to puke as his vision swims for a moment. He hobbles down the stairs, still in one shoe and his clothes from last night. Bursting through the front door, he looks around frantically, squinting as the sun assaults his eyes. </p><p>Luckily for him, David is only a few feet away, hand pressed to the wall and doubled over, groaning. Based on the scratchiness of his voice, Patrick is fairly sure he just missed him throwing up, which is probably for the best. </p><p>“David,” he calls, louder than necessary, which elicits another groan. “Sorry, I just-”</p><p>He cuts himself off, dumbfounded. The problem is that he doesn’t actually have a plan. He just couldn’t stand the thought of David leaving without knowing his name. </p><p>David straightens up, wobbling slightly as he turns to face Patrick. Even with a sickly hue and bloodshot eyes he’s beautiful, and Patrick lets himself stare for a few moments, documenting what his brain wouldn’t allow him to last night. </p><p>“I’m Patrick,” he says, holding out his hand. “I don’t think I ever actually introduced myself last night.”</p><p>David stares at him for a moment, eyes blank, before reaching forward, lips pursed. “David.” </p><p>“I don’t think either of us are up for anything today, but maybe we could meet at the cafe tomorrow for breakfast around 10? Fill in some gaps?” </p><p>David tilts his head, seemingly pleasantly surprised but also hesitant. His arms are wrapped around his torso, fingers twisting in his sweater. Maybe this is all a little too forward for him.</p><p>Patrick is seconds away from backtracking, not wanting to scare him off before he even has a real conversation with him, but David interrupts his thoughts. </p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>They stand there for a moment, until a tiny smile is curled on David’s lips and Patrick’s are stretched in a full-on grin. </p><p>“Great. See you then.”</p><p>“Yeah…” </p><p>David still sounds unsure, and he nearly topples over as he walks backwards a few steps, but as he turns with an awkward wave and moves slowly down the block, Patrick is positive that this feeling in his stomach, the swoop, is what everyone means when they say butterflies.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“How long have you been in town? I’ve never seen you around before.” </p>
<p>“Only a few weeks. Moving here was kind of a spontaneous decision.”</p>
<p>“Mm,” David hums. “You don’t seem like the spontaneous type.”</p>
<p>Patrick looks up, giving David a soft grin. “I did get up and sing karaoke with you.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so i totally didn't stick with that updating goal i talked about, but in my defense the world is kind of imploding. </p>
<p>i hope you're all doing okay after the finale, and that you and your families are staying safe and healthy. 💜</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next morning, Patrick eventually decides on forgoing the one suit jacket he brought with him to town, leaving it draped across his bed. He doesn’t want to come off too desperate, though that wouldn’t be a false claim. He takes one last look in the mirror before he leaves, hesitating for a moment before undoing one more button, showing off his collarbones a little bit more and attempting to keep up the air of nonchalance he’s been lecturing himself to give off since yesterday.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wants this to go well, wants to connect the dots between drunk David and sober David. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>According to the gossips in town, he’s a bit of a handful. His name is always said with an eyeroll, his antics described with fond exasperation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And maybe that would be enough to send someone else running, but Patrick didn’t come here to find something ordinary. He came here to break free from that, to escape expectations, to explore the part of himself he’d never been able to before. He has no interest in what the rest of the town considers conventional. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he walks to the cafe twenty minutes early, as planned, and orders a hot tea in an attempt to calm his nerves. He has no idea how this will go, no idea if David even actually wants to see him, if the only reason he agreed was because he was extremely hungover and wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They don’t even have each other’s numbers. David could choose to just not show up, and Patrick wouldn’t really be able to call him out on it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And as minutes pass after 10:00, he starts trying to brace himself for that reality. Maybe this is what he gets for bailing on his fiancee, for disappearing without giving family and friends any reason. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For being selfish enough to want to know himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then David walks through the door, 11 minutes late and even more beautiful than Patrick remembers him. A black sweater hugs his torso, similar to the one from the other night, except this time it has a white lightning bolt striking down the middle. Patrick wonders idly if he always wears black and white, or if he occasionally changes it up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick raises his hand, attracting David’s attention, and David bites his lip as he shuffles over, fiddling with the silver rings on his fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” he says softly, slipping into the booth opposite Patrick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” Patrick replies with a wide grin. He feels a strange sort of calm wash over him as he meets David’s eyes, and suddenly he has no idea what he was worrying about just a moment before. And it really doesn’t make any sense, for him to feel at ease while he sits across from a near complete stranger, but he can’t help it. “I ordered you a cup of tea. I hope that’s okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods to the slightly-cooled mug in front of David, watches his hands as they grab the tea bag and bob it up and down a couple times before pulling it out and carefully placing it on the small plate underneath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has really nice hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, that was very nice of you, thank you” David finally replies, his lips twisting in a show of self-consciousness as he adds a heap of sugar and cream. “I was woken up by my mom screaming over the slight movement of one of her wigs and missed out on 10 more minutes of beauty sleep, so hopefully this will help.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick quickly decides that even if David is just a handful, he’s more than willing to offer both of his arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, those 10 minutes are doing the rest of us a favor,” he blurts out without really meaning to, thoughts immediately spilling from his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David’s eyebrows jump as he takes a sip of his tea, and a small grin twists on his lips as he sets the mug back down. His face is so expressive, and Patrick can tell there are so many stories behind those eyes, so many years of extravagance that he no longer has access to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick has a million questions. He wants to know everything, wants to solve whatever impossible equation formed in his head since meeting David. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wants to know David just as much as he wants to know himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sit in silence for a moment, both of them clearly having no idea where to start, until David surprisingly takes the first step. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, so, I almost completely blacked out the other night,” he says, softly, like he’s scared he’ll offend Patrick somehow. “Like, when you ran outside the next morning it took me at least a minute to remember how I even knew you. Did we...um...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes Patrick a minute, but he catches on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he says, shaking his head vehemently. “No, definitely not. We just sang a lot of karaoke and then you crashed on Ray’s couch because you were too drunk to get all the way home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David nods, lips pressed into a line and shoulders tense, and Patrick feels like he needs to loosen things up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Plus, if we </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I wouldn’t have exiled you to the couch for the night.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s true, but he says it lightly, offering David a smile as he meets his eyes once more. Except the look on David’s face is still anything but light. He looks...shocked. Like he wouldn’t have expected Patrick to let him sleep in his bed. Like it wouldn’t be the first time someone kicked him out right after they were done with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick clenches his teeth together and looks down at the table, afraid that if he opens his mouth something irrationally angry will come out. Not at David, but at the people who used him that way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So are you and Ray…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick whips his head back up, mind going momentarily blank as David’s eyebrows lift again, and a laugh escapes his throat when he catches on. “No! God no! He had a spare room open and I offered to handle some of the business aspects of his job for him. It all happened really fast, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, so you’re a businessman.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know if I’d say that, really,” Patrick laughs again, gripping his mug and trying not to blush under the intensity of David’s full attention. “It was my major in college, but I ended up at a dead-end desk job after I graduated, until...well...now, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David takes another sip of his tea. “How long have you been in town? I’ve never seen you around before.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only a few weeks,” Patrick replies, staring down into his mug as he thinks of his parents and Rachel. They’re probably sitting around a table right now too, discussing why he isn’t answering any of their calls. “Moving here was kind of a spontaneous decision.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm,” David hums. “You don’t seem like the spontaneous type.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick looks up, giving David a soft grin. “I did get up and sing karaoke with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David’s hands fly up to cover his face at the reminder and he groans, shaking his head. “I told Stevie not to let me have too many polar bear shots.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was she the one in the flannel?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. That’s all she ever wears,” he replies with an eye roll. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As opposed to your ever-changing wardrobe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s risky, to tease him when they’ve only known each other for a total of a few hours, but he can’t seem to help it. There’s something inside of him that makes pushing David’s buttons a necessity, like maybe if he gets the right combination he’ll catch a short window of reality beneath whatever facade he’s being presented. Not that David is lying, or even consciously trying to be closed off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick has a feeling that’s the result of years upon years of people taking advantage, of seeing money and a warm body where they should have seen a soul.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, I’ll have you know, this sweater cost more than this cafe and all of the items on its very extensive menu,” David answers, affronted, but Patrick thinks he can sense a bit of amusement beneath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Patrick concedes, nodding exaggeratedly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They hold eye contact for a moment, the air between them softening, and just as Patrick opens his mouth to ask another question, David’s phone begins to vibrate on the table. He blinks rapidly and scoops it up, grimacing when he sees the screen. Holding up a finger with an apologetic expression, he answers the call. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” he asks, letting out a harsh sigh. “It’s not my turn to deal with her today! Um, yeah, and you took 5 in a row when you turned 19. It was not different! Oh my god. Fine! I’ll be there in ten!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick tries not to make it too obvious that he was listening the whole time as David hangs up the phone, instead plastering on an innocent look as they meet eyes again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Apparently my mother’s most recent psychotic break has reached a new level of insufferability and my sister needs help calming her down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh man,” Patrick says, eyes widening. “Is she going to be okay? Can I help?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s best that you don’t,” David says quickly, shaking his head. “You don’t need to be exposed to that side of my family yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yet</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I don’t want to hold you up,” Patrick says, gesturing toward the door. “This is my treat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” David says, voice quiet and unbelievably soft as he offers Patrick another smile and slides out of the booth. “Um, do you have a number I can contact you at? For...friendship purposes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Friendship purposes,” Patrick repeats, unable to stop himself from laughing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David averts his eyes to the ceiling as Patrick flags Twyla down and borrows her pen, jotting his number down on a napkin alongside a bonus message: “For ALL purposes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And when David walks out the door, Patrick leans back in the booth and watches the stutter in his step as he looks down at the napkin. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“A guy a few miles away sent over some hand cream and body milk,” David says, holding up a glass container filled with a white substance.</p>
<p>“Do you drink that?” Patrick asks, eyeing it dubiously.</p>
<p>“No, Patrick,” David replies, rolling his eyes. “It’s milk, for your body.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>happy easter to those of you who celebrate, and happy sunday to those of you who don't 💜</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Hi.</b>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The message comes the next day around 1 pm, and Patrick is a few minutes into his lunch break. Putting down his usual ham and cheese sandwich, he peers at the unknown number, stomach flipping with hope. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Realistically, it could be anyone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For all Patrick knows it’s the result of a woman being tired of a creepy man not taking no for an answer and jotting down a random number so he’d leave her alone, or it’s an old grandparent who barely knows how to text trying to talk to their teenage grandchild. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he hesitates, thumbs hovering over his phone screen, before replying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Who is this? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The three dots appear seconds after the message delivers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Oh sorry. It’s David. Rose.</b>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh hi, David. Rose. This is Patrick Brewer. No period in between.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Funny.</b>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick grins, imagining the narrowed eyes and twisted lips. He’s already familiar with some of David’s quirks, and it sends a thrill through his body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I’m trying to fill out the incorporation papers for my business. Do you think it’s bad if my business address is actually just the address to another business? </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I’m staying at the motel currently and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.</b>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well normally I wouldn’t recommend it, but under your circumstances I’m sure it’ll be fine.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <b>I knew it. You are a businessman.</b>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I believe that title belongs to you, Mr. Rose. You’re the person who is actually starting a business. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Okay first of all, ew. Calling me Mr. Rose makes me sound like my dad. Let’s stick with David. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>And secondly, who knows if I even am. These forms are difficult. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I really have to choose the name of the business right now? I’m oscillating between two at the moment and that’s a really big decision.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick laughs softly, eyeing the clock to see that his break is quickly dwindling. He has a couple more appointments today, but if they go smoothly he might have some time in a few hours. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I could help you if you want. I need to meet with a couple more clients but I should be free around five? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I don’t want to take up too much of your time. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well this is kind of my job David. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Plus, that’s what friends are for right? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With the way he’s grinning at his phone, he knows his interest in David is very far from the realm of friendship, but he’ll take what he can get for now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Okay.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Thank you. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Can we meet at the cafe though? I’m already starving.</b>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The cafe it is.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I like Rose Apothecary better,” Patrick says, grinning as David’s hand hovers over the form, pen gripped between his fingers. “It’s just pretentious enough.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David glares at him. “Would we call it pretentious? Or...timeless?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick doesn’t comment, instead widening his grin as he takes another bite of the sketchy mozzarella sticks they ordered. David lets out a long suffering sigh, but after a moment he writes down the name on the form in neat, curly handwriting. It makes Patrick happy. David trusts him with the fate of his business. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the more Patrick learns about it, the more interested he gets. David’s insecurity might make it seem like a frantic mess at first glance, but he can tell it’s actually been well thought out, and the picture David paints for him is beautiful. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He keeps feeling this pull, like he should be doing more, saying more. He wants to stay involved, but he’s not entirely sure how yet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a good idea,” Patrick reassures, watching as David twists his rings around his fingers, “your business. Rebranding local products and crafts. It’s very inventive.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David pulls his lip between his teeth as he looks up, his eyes warm, and Patrick shivers. Every feeling he has around David is intense in a way he’s never experienced before, and it’s sort of overwhelming. Despite his apparent confidence, he’s always reeling, trying to quickly drum up something else to say to make David give him another one of his signature looks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” David replies, fingers stilling and expression warm. “I, um...I found out recently that the art galleries that I used to run back in New York were completely funded by my parents. All that time I thought I was organizing and bringing in clients myself, and…” he leaves the rest of that thought unspoken, shaking his head. “It’s good to know I can actually do some of this on my own.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patrick nods. He’d be lying if he said he fully understands, but he can imagine how disconcerting it would be to find out all of the effort you put into what you loved wasn’t what earned you success at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you started setting up the store yet?” Patrick asks, trying to lighten the mood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David’s eyes brighten in the cafe lights, spreading warmth in Patrick’s chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. I got a shipment of products earlier today, actually.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I come see?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David’s head tilts to the side, that look of wonder on his face once more, before letting out a soft, “Um, yes. Of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The store is just across the street from the cafe, and they walk over together side by side, arms just inches apart. The bell rings as they step through the door, and Patrick lets his eyes wander across the space. Boxes are scattered everywhere, but the smell of primer fills the room and shelves rest on the floor, ready to be put up once the walls are ready. It has a ways to go, but Patrick can already tell it’s going to be a beautiful space. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What products do you have so far?” he asks, loving how animated David gets when asked about the business. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A couple of clients have sent over some wine. Stevie tested them out and then stole two more bottles of each.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.” Patrick doesn’t even know her yet, but he feels like they’d get along. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A guy a few miles away sent over some hand cream and body milk,” David says, holding up a glass container filled with a white substance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you drink that?” Patrick asks, eyeing it dubiously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Patrick,” David replies, rolling his eyes. “It’s milk, for your body.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, well that label is a bit misleading, I think. Maybe you should consider making it more clear that it’s...a moisturizer?” He’s not even sure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyone with a fiber of common sense should know that it’s not actually milk, Patrick.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mhm,” Patrick replies, unable to keep the smile off his face. “Well it seems like things are really taking off…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And suddenly words are bubbling up his throat, desperate to come out, and he somehow knows it’s inevitable. It’s the same feeling that made him turn down the street that brought him to this town, the same urge that took him to the cafe before checking into the motel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wants to be a part of David’s business. He needs to be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you’re gonna need more startup money, though.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” David says, unsure. “More startup money...where would I get that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, since you’re supporting local businesses, there are grants that you can apply for. I can help you with the applications.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s very generous.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I wouldn’t be doing it for free.” That stops David short, his mouth falling open slightly and eyes lifting to the ceiling. “If the grants come through, you’ll have the money to start paying me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” David huffs out in a breathy laugh, clearly surprised at the suggestion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I really think you have something here, David. And I know that you’re happy to be doing this on your own, and I think you should be proud of how far you’ve come, but I also think you could use some help. You’ll still be the one making the big decisions. I’ll just help out with the business aspect of things.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A slow smile spreads across David’s face as he replies, “Okay, um...well then yes. I’m open to entertaining your...investment offer.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great,” Patrick says, crossing his arms over his chest, half afraid that his racing heart is visible through his shirt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you do know that if the grant money doesn’t come through, then I won’t be able to–”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m gonna get the money,” Patrick replies confidently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>David smiles wider. “Okay.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“David, I am not doing all of this by myself.”</p><p>David meets his gaze then, eyes widening as he realizes Patrick is serious. “This is one of my favorite sweaters!”</p><p>“All of your sweaters are your favorite sweaters.”</p><p>“Incorrect, I have a collection of second choices for emergency purposes only.” </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>nothing like inexplicably waking up at 5 am and finishing a chapter. i hope y'all are doing well! </p><p>i swear i'll answer comments when my brain cooperates and lets me be more productive than this. 💜</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m surprised you didn’t pick black,” Patrick says, opening the first can of off-white paint while David “supervises” him. </p><p>“Um, I moodboarded a color scheme, so we’re going with a sand and stone palette,” David replies, briefly inspecting his nails. “Also, my emo phase was very short-lived in high school after I accidentally scratched my cornea with my eyeliner pencil.”</p><p>Patrick shakes his head, ducking to hide the fond grin stretching across his face. He focuses intently on pouring the paint into the container, trying not to shiver at the feeling of David’s eyes on him. </p><p>It’s a little bit different like this, the both of them standing in the echoey space of the store by themselves. Over the past couple weeks they’ve spent a lot of time in the cafe, planning things out as the grant approvals began coming in, and Patrick is now very aware of the lack of background noise from chatty townspeople and Twyla’s frequent sunny interruptions. </p><p>Here, it’s just them. In a mostly empty room. Nothing to fill their silences. </p><p>Patrick can’t decide if it’s crazy that he doesn’t actually feel uncomfortable, or if that’s just proof that they’re getting to know each other better. They work well together. That’s a good thing.</p><p>“Alright,” Patrick breathes out, forcing his thoughts away and setting the paint can aside, “we’re ready to go.” </p><p>“Okay, so you should probably start over there so we can get the shelves up as soon as possible,” David says, pointing at the right side of the store. </p><p>Patrick crosses his arms over his chest, a smile spreading across his face as David fiddles with the sleeve of his sweater, avoiding his eyes. </p><p>“David, I am not doing all of this by myself.”</p><p>David meets his gaze then, eyes widening as he realizes Patrick is serious. “This is one of my favorite sweaters!”</p><p>“All of your sweaters are your favorite sweaters.”</p><p>“Incorrect, I have a collection of second choices for emergency purposes only.” </p><p>“<em>David</em>,” Patrick presses, not letting him off the hook. </p><p>“I can’t get paint on my outfit! That would be such a messy look.”</p><p>Patrick opens his mouth, ready to ask why he showed up in a regular outfit in the first place, when an idea strikes. Without another word he takes out his phone and scrolls through his contacts, humming when he finds who he’s looking for. </p><p>“Hey, Twyla!” he says cheerily when she answers the phone, holding back a laugh as David’s expression immediately contorts into panic. “Oh, I’m good. Just about to start painting the store with David...yeah, it is exciting! That’s actually why I’m calling. I remember you telling me the other day that you cut hair in your spare time. Do you happen to have one of those aprons...oh, that’s perfect! David will be right over to get it, then! Fantastic. Bye.” </p><p>Shoving his phone back into the pocket of his worn pair of jeans, Patrick smiles innocently at David, gleefully taking in the horror on his face. “Twyla has an apron for you right over at the cafe. That should keep your outfit safe. Why don’t you go get it and then we’ll start?”</p><p>“Um, actually, I–”</p><p>“See you soon!”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>Twenty minutes later, David stands in the middle of the store looking like a defeated ghost, and actual tears are streaming down Patrick’s face from laughing so hard. He’s already snapped a picture, of course, because he knows he’ll never get this opportunity again, and he’s pretty sure David is seconds away from stealing his family car and stranding himself on another Amish farm, no matter how traumatic the first time was.</p><p>“Here you go,” Patrick says when he finally calms down, handing over a paint roller. “Let’s get to work.” </p><p>They paint in silence for a while, David still silently pouting and Patrick letting his mind wander. He thinks of Rachel, and that one time she randomly decided to paint her kitchen light blue because she was sick of staring at the “grandma green” walls. It was during one of their many breaks, but Patrick went over to help anyway, because he couldn’t say no. </p><p>He never really knew how to say no to her. The wrongness of their relationship was always there, nagging him in the back of his mind, but he would always push it back in favor of keeping the peace, keeping her and his parents and the rest of his family happy. </p><p>They worked in silence back then, too, but unlike now, it was full of unspoken animosity. They had let their frustrations with each other build up for years, and every move they made overflowed with tension. </p><p>With David, the air is lighter. </p><p>It’s nice outside, the door is propped open to keep the fumes from overcoming them, and even though David is annoyed that he has to wear Twyla’s apron, it’s clear he doesn’t dislike the act of painting. He’s actually paying close attention, rolling precise lines across the wall and making sure he doesn’t leave any unwanted streaks behind. </p><p>This is the type of work that he actually enjoys, Patrick thinks. Covering up something worn and turning it into something worth looking at. </p><p>“You hum a lot,” David says suddenly, a tiny hint of curiosity in his voice.</p><p>“I do?” Patrick asks, looking over at him with raised eyebrows. He had no idea he was humming just then.</p><p>“Like...all the time. Constantly.” He says it so matter-of-factly, not taking his eyes off the wall. “I actually created a little game out of it in my head. I see how long it takes me to figure out whatever song it is.”</p><p>Patrick flushes bright pink, color spilling over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. </p><p>“Sorry.” </p><p>“For what?”</p><p>“I don’t know...being distracting? I never noticed myself doing that.”</p><p>“You have a nice voice,” David says, shrugging his shoulders, as if the compliment doesn’t nearly send Patrick to the floor. “And it’s actually kind of cute. Normally I’d find it very incorrect, but––I don’t know. It’s just a part of you.”</p><p>And if that doesn’t send Patrick to his grave, he wonders just how much he would be able to endure before he physically crumbles in front of David’s eyes. </p><p>Of course, he can’t just throw all of the emotions building in his chest in between them, so he settles for a large grin, lips stretched wide as he teases, “You think I’m cute?”</p><p>“Okay,” David sighs, still not looking over at him, but Patrick can see his dimple curling on his cheek. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Later that night, the first coat of paint is completed and David has unashamedly stolen two bottles of wine from their inventory.</p><p>One for each of them, of course. David’s is already half empty, and Patrick isn’t too far behind him.</p><p>He’s perched on the counter next to the cash register, legs swinging and heels banging into the wood. The sound echoes through the store, and David shoots a halfhearted glare from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. He has spread Twyla’s apron underneath him. </p><p><em> “I can’t get dust on these pants,” </em> he had claimed when Patrick laughed at him. </p><p>“We did a good job,” David says, looking around with raised eyebrows. </p><p>“Why do you sound so surprised?”</p><p>“Well, I’m not surprised that <em> I </em> did,” David says, that proud smirk of his lifting his lips.</p><p>“Hey, I’m just as artistic as you,” Patrick defends, taking another swig from his bottle. </p><p>His cheeks feel warm, his limbs are loose, and for the first time in his life he feels like he’s exactly where he belongs. It may not be what he expected or planned, but it’s what he chose, and that may just be why it’s working so well. </p><p>“Oh?” David says.</p><p>“I play multiple instruments, can read and write music, and I sing.”</p><p>“Well I knew about the singing,” David says, shuddering at the memory. </p><p>Patrick grins, watching as he tilts his head back and drinks from his bottle. His fingers are wrapped around the neck, and Patrick can’t stop staring at them, and the way his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, and the brush of his eyelashes against his cheeks when he closes his eyes, and most distractingly, the way his lips meet the bottle. </p><p>He never used to notice things like that when he dated women. He never sought out the physical aspects he liked, probably because he subconsciously knew he would come up short. </p><p>The thought washes over him, leaving a sorrowful taste in his mouth as he thinks about all of the ways he fucked up in the past. He had someone who loved him, <em> really </em> loved him, and somewhere inside he knew he could never love her back, but he stayed anyway. He <em> proposed </em> anyway. </p><p>He left a lot of baggage back home, and he isn’t going to be able to fix it with a simple apology when he finally figures everything out. </p><p>“Um, I’m sorry if I actually offended you,” David says, voice a mixture of worry and surprise. “I was just kidding about the painting. You did a wonderful job.” </p><p>It’s then that Patrick realizes there are tears in his eyes.</p><p>He rubs them quickly, wiping them away, and shakes his head with a breathy laugh. </p><p>“No, sorry, I was just…” What does he say? <em> I was just thinking of how I left my fiancée without looking back</em>? “Reminiscing.” </p><p>David hums, then rises from the apron less than gracefully, shoes slipping against the fabric. It’s something Patrick would normally tease him for, but he just doesn’t have it in him right now. </p><p>Instead, he watches as David tentatively steps toward him, lips pursed. They meet eyes, Patrick’s head tilted in confusion, and David pauses. </p><p>“My sister taught me a while ago that a hug can go a long way in making someone feel better,” he says, voice soft in the quiet of the store. </p><p>Patrick feels his eyebrows raise in surprise, but the pull in his chest is unmistakable, and his arms are already spreading, welcoming the embrace.</p><p>David fills the empty space, stubble scratching against Patrick’s neck, and it takes everything in his power not to nuzzle into David’s shoulder. He smells so good, and his sweater is soft, and his hands are rubbing up and down Patrick’s back, and he’s just so fucking beautiful and warm and kind. </p><p>Patrick is already falling for him, plummeting through the sky with no parachute, hopelessly praying that he manages to land safely. </p><p>But even if he doesn’t, he thinks, it will have been worth it. To have this. To know him. </p><p>“Thank you, David,” he whispers.</p><p>David pulls back, hands lingering on his arms and eyes shining with his smile. </p><p>Definitely worth it. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm on twitter and tumblr @patrickbrewcr if you wanna come say hi!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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